It is a good day so far—none of the 16 critically ill babies in the neonatal intensive care unit has coded or died. So far, the shrill electronic alarms for dying babies have been silent.

As the neonatologist on call, this gives me the opportunity to talk to Anna and Jake, Baby Milo’s parents. Milo peers up at them with big brown eyes as Anna leans over his crib and whispers to him. A small transparent plastic mask covers Milo’s tiny nose to help him breathe, and a cluster of saliva bubbles percolate between his lips. Despite a sleeve of tape securing his right hand, his tiny fingers tug the orange orogastric tube taped to his cheek.

Milo’s father, a brawny man wearing scuffed brown shoes, ripped blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a tattered Green Bay Packers cap, sits in a chair and nervously taps his knee while he stares with bloodshot eyes at the vital signs on Milo’s bedside monitor.

“Milo is adorable,” I say from the doorway. His parents look over to me as I step into the room.

“We think so,” Anna says with a smile.

“How are you both doing?” I ask. “Being in the NICU can be pretty stressful.”

Milo’s parents glance at each other and nod. Anna takes a seat next to Jake, who touches her shoulder.

I pull up a chair. “Can you tell me Milo’s story? How did you end up in the NICU?” I say.

“We were celebrating my birthday at a steakhouse,” Jake says. “Right after they brought […]